Nightmares Can Be Murder (A Dream Club Mystery) (4 page)

I’d earned a business degree with a combination of scholarships, student loans, and two waitressing jobs. But Ali wasn’t like me; she didn’t have any specific career goals and always seemed to be searching for something just out of reach. The brass ring, maybe.

If only Ali knew what she wanted, maybe I could help her get it.

4

Later that evening, Ali and I decided to share a pizza at Luigi’s, a little bistro across the street from the shop. It was barely six thirty, and I wondered if Ali had closed up early in my honor. After all, it was a Saturday night and I figured the tourists would be out in full force, exploring the trendy shops and restaurants in the nearby Historic District
.

So why are we sitting here instead of working?
I finally broached the subject with my sister.

“Oh, I never stay open in the evening,” Ali explained, “even on a weekend. Most of the traffic comes during the morning and early afternoon hours.” She swirled her Pinot Grigio in her glass before raising it to her lips. “Plus I like to have the evenings to myself, you know? I’m working on a couple of art projects that might pay off down the road.”

“What sort of art projects?” My guard was up and little alarm bells were clanging in my brain. Ali always has trouble staying on task, and I worried she was veering off track once again, not focusing her energies on her business.

“I’ve been thinking about doing graphics and web designs as a sideline. I’m helping a few friends with their websites, just to see if I can get the hang of it. I don’t charge them for my services, because I’m new to this and there’s a pretty steep learning curve.” She gave a breezy wave of her hand. “I like to keep a lot of irons in the fire. That way if something doesn’t go well, I always have a plan B to fall back on.”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling like my head was going to explode. This was just what I was afraid was going to happen. The candy shop would take a backseat to whatever new project had caught Allison’s fancy, and she’d have her head in the clouds once again.

“Really, Ali, it might be better to work on something that actually increases your revenue right now. You don’t have time for sidelines like web design. I think you should concentrate on the candy store. That should be your one and only goal at the moment.” I gritted my teeth, trying to keep the edge out of
my voice and failing miserably.

“I suppose so,” she said, flushing. “You know me, I always go off in a dozen directions at once. I’ve always had trouble focusing on just one thing. Maybe that’s part of the problem.”

She blew out a little breath, and our eyes met across the table. She looked very young and vulnerable in her green and white boho top and skinny jeans. She’d pulled her silky blond hair back from her face with an embroidered headband that gave her an Alice in Wonderland look.

She looked so crushed, I felt my heart melting. The waiter placed an enormous veggie pizza on the table, but neither of us reached for a slice, and for a long moment, you could hear a pin drop.

I knew I’d hurt her feelings, and it was time to backpedal. Swiftly.

“Ali,” I said in a softer tone, “I didn’t mean to criticize you. Let’s put our heads together and come up with some really fun ideas to boost your business. See if we can target customers who are already visiting other merchants in the area. That would be a great place to start.”

“If you say so.” She heaved a little sigh and poured herself some more wine.

“Let’s take a look. Maybe there are some possibilities we’re missing out on.”

I took another deep breath as I scanned the rows of shops lining the street. Business wasn’t exactly booming, but there were a few pedestrians out and about. Were they tourists or just residents heading for home? They probably lived in the area, I decided. They were walking quickly, with a sense of purpose, not window-shopping or dawdling.

We were sitting outdoors at an umbrella table, and suddenly I noticed an old-style movie theater directly across the street from us. The marquee advertised a French film I’d never heard of and the movie posters in the display cases looked pretty retro themselves with their faded yellow backgrounds.

“Here’s a possibility. Vintage movies, vintage candies,” I said, “right in your own backyard. Maybe you could sell bags of candy to people as they head into the movies. What do you think?”

Ali followed my gaze, and a little smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. “Nice try, Taylor, but there aren’t any customers. That theater has been closed for thirty years.”

She rested her chin on her hand, staring out at the street scene. It was a lovely evening in Savannah, and the air was soft, filled with the intoxicating scent of gardenias.

Oops.
“I should have noticed the marquee wasn’t lit up,” I said with a sheepish grin.

“This street is off the main drag and it’s not booming with traffic. That’s why I got such a good deal from Trent, my landlord. He warned me it would be a challenge to launch a thriving business here, but he figured I could make a go of it. They’re always talking about revitalizing this section of town, but nothing ever comes of it.”

“I see.” I pressed my lips together, wishing I hadn’t sounded so judgmental. Ali would have to find her own way in the business world, and maybe the best thing I could do was to cut her some slack. After all, the candy shop was her baby, and I was here as a consultant, not a silent partner or an investor. And more important, I was here as her sister.

“Tell me about your other neighbors on the block,” I said, eager to strike a positive note. “The flower shop looks interesting. Do you get much business from their customers?”

I’d spotted a flower market called Petals just a few doors away, and I pictured yuppie types buying fresh blooms and then dashing into Ali’s shop for a sugary treat. The shop was older, but neatly maintained with a green canvas awning, a cascade of pink and white petunias tumbling out of matching window boxes, and a stunning violet clematis climbing up a trellis near the front door.

I felt encouraged and immediately wondered if there was any way to attract the Petals customers to Allison’s shop. Maybe do some sort of joint promotional effort?

Flowers and candy.
They were a natural combination. All we had to do was find a way to link these two products together. Holidays would be easy, of course. Everyone loves flowers and candy for Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day, but we needed to think big. We needed to focus on a more general promotion, something that could run throughout the year. But what?

“There has to be a way we can capitalize on the flower shop being so close to your store,” I said. “At the moment, I’m drawing a blank, but I bet there are loads of possibilities there.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. I don’t think I can get any business from Petals.” Ali looked wistful. “Two elderly sisters run the place. They came to the Dream Club last night, the two ladies in the flowered dresses? You probably didn’t get a chance to chat with them. Minerva and Rose Harper are very nice but they’ve got to be in their eighties if they’re a day. They mostly do wreaths for funeral homes, and they seem to sell a lot of potted plants.”

“That doesn’t sound too encouraging,” I admitted, playing with my tossed salad. “And I don’t see any customers over there. That’s not a good sign, especially on a Friday night.”

“I’m sure they do a lot of home deliveries because I see them loading flowers into their van all the time. There’s not much foot traffic into the store. Petals has been here forever, and I don’t think they even have to advertise. Everyone in the district just knows about them.”

“It doesn’t sound like a good match for your business, after all,” I admitted. A failed movie theater and a flower shop run by geriatric owners. This was going to be a tougher job than I’d thought.

“Anyway, their customers aren’t the right people to target for vintage candy,” Ali said. “I can’t imagine anyone stopping to buy Mallo Cups on their way to a funeral.”

“No, I suppose not.” I smiled, pleased to see that Ali was at least thinking about coming up with a marketing strategy. “What about the dance studio over there? Look, there’s some people going in there right now.” Offhand, I couldn’t think of how a dance studio could help promote the sale of vintage candy, but I liked to look at all the possibilities.

Ali followed my gaze and her expression hardened. “That’s Chico’s place. Chico Hernandez. He’s offering a special on tango lessons this month, and he’s drawing quite a crowd. Mostly women, as you can see.”

I took a good look. The doors to the studio were open, and salsa music was pouring into the soft night air. “Tango lessons? That could be interesting. Have you met him? What’s he like?”

“Oh, I’ve met him all right. He’s quite the Latin lover,” Ali said shortly. “Thinks he’s God’s gift to women, an Antonio Banderas wanna-be. You know the type.”

“Sadly, I do.” I took another peek as a darkly handsome man with longish hair and flashing black eyes stepped outside, talking on his cell phone. He was wearing black pants so tight they could have been spray painted on him, along with a white shirt, a black vest, and Cuban heels.

A middle-aged woman brushed by him to enter the studio. We watched as he shoved his cell phone in his pocket, pulled her close to him, and planted a kiss on her cheek. He then executed a few tango steps before bending her backward in a spine-crunchingly low dip. You’d think he was auditioning for
Dancing with the Stars
.

He finished his little performance by pulling her upright and kissing her hand. Ali rolled her eyes, but the bystanders standing on the sidewalk seemed impressed by his impromptu performance and broke into delighted applause.

“That’s Chico in action,” Ali said with a rueful laugh. “Always on the move, always on the make. And the crowds eat it up.”

“Quite the ladies’ man.”

She nodded, her lips thinning in disapproval. “He tried to hit on me the day I opened the shop. He has a sort of superficial charm, you know.”

“Yes, I can see that,” I said wryly. His dance partner was giggling like a schoolgirl and blushing furiously as he bowed to her.

“I was crazy enough to go out with him a couple of times until someone told me he has a wife and four kids back in South America, so I ended it. I’m not even sure it was true, but things were headed downhill anyway. That was the last straw.” Ali’s tone was thoughtful. I wondered if she had actually cared about Chico but was putting on a brave front for me. It’s very possible he’d played her, and she’d been hurt by him. My sister’s track record with men was as dismal as her success as an entrepreneur.

I chuckled sympathetically. “A wise move.” I was helping myself to a slice of mushroom pizza when I heard Ali suck in a quick gulp of air.

“Oh no,” she muttered. “Chico’s spotted us. And he’s crossing the street, heading right this way.”

“Maybe he wants one last tango with you,” I quipped.

5

But Chico seemed to have more in mind than dance steps. He darted nimbly through traffic, leapt over a low concrete planter filled with coral and white petunias at the edge of the curb, and quickly crossed the space between us. He was flashing a thousand-watt smile, playing to the crowd, radiating a kind of rock star cockiness. A group of diners at a nearby table turned to stare at him, and he gave them a jaunty wave, basking in the attention.

“
Mi muchacha querida!
” he cried dramatically when he reached our table, bending to kiss Ali’s hand. “It’s been so long, I’ve missed you, I’m desolated without you.” He pulled over the extra chair in one swift motion and planted himself on it, his eyes never leaving her face. “I was getting ready to open my studio, and then I saw you sitting here as beautiful as a painting. I couldn’t believe my
fortuna
, my luck, and I couldn’t wait
un momento mas
to tell you how you make my heart race.”

Nothing subtle about Chico. He was laying on the compliments so thick, he could have been using a trowel. I winced, wondering if any woman in her right mind would really fall for his spiel.

Up close, I could see that he was a little older than I’d originally thought, with a few lines around his eyes and a certain softness blurring what was probably once a finely chiseled chin line. I noticed he was wearing a flashy ring with an insignia on it, but no wedding ring. I assumed that was deliberate; appearing single would be good for business.

“How are you doing, Chico?” Ali said evenly. Two little pinpricks of color appeared on her cheeks, the only sign that she was feeling a bit rattled by his attention. He tried to hold her hand, but she pulled it away and wrapped her fingers around her wineglass.

“How am I doing?” he repeated soulfully. “I’m lonely without you, my lovely Ali,” he said. He placed his hand over his heart, and his dark eyes flickered to me, shooting me a look that I couldn’t begin to decipher. “Who is your bee-oo-tiful
amiga
? Please to introduce us?”

Ali hesitated for a moment, and I saw a shadow of indecision in her eyes. “Chico, this is my sister, Taylor Blake, from Chicago. Taylor, this is Chico Hernandez.” She sent him her frostiest stare.

Chico immediately laser-locked me with his sultry gaze. “Taylor, a lovely name for a lovely woman.” He leaned across the table and touched me gently under the chin. “I can see very much the family resemblance.” I drew back slightly in my chair, shrinking from his touch. A heavy wave of cologne hit me, and I wrinkled my nose, drawing back even farther. He wasn’t easily dissuaded and gave a throaty chuckle. “You will be staying long in our city, I am hoping?”

“I’m really not sure,” I said vaguely.

“If you need someone to show you the city, I am here for you.” He licked his lips, staring at me as if I were a Big Mac and he were a hungry hound. “I can show you things you’ve never seen before,” he said suggestively. I glanced up to see Ali giving me a delicate eye roll over the rim of her wineglass. I assume this was Chico’s standard line when talking to women.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much time for sightseeing,” I said curtly. I decided it was better to be blunt with the man. It was obvious he wouldn’t take a hint; only a verbal two-by-four would put a dent in his gigantic ego.

Chico grinned, reaching for my hand and running his thumb over my palm before I yanked my hand away. “Well, you never know, you may change your mind. And I’ll be here, waiting for you.” He gave me another soulful look, like a B-list actor in a cheesy Spanish soap, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

An awkward silence fell between us, and I noticed a slow flush creeping down Ali’s neck. Chico’s unwavering gaze and blatant come-on were making both of us uncomfortable. I kept my eyes focused on my quickly cooling slice of pizza, hoping he would get the hint and say
adios
.

“Chico!” a flashy redhead yelled from across the street. I recognized her from the Dream Club meeting. Gina Santiago. Her hair tumbled almost to her waist in soft waves, and she had a knockout figure with curves in all the right places. She was wearing a white ruffly peasant blouse with a full cotton skirt and black strappy dance shoes. “What are you doing over there? Class is starting, everyone is in the studio!” She waved her arm in the air, frowning, pointing to her watch.

“
Un momento
,
por favor!
” he called to her, holding up an index finger. He turned back to us, his lips tightening into a thin line. “My assistant is driving me crazy,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “She lives by the clock; no wonder her husband divorced her. She should be working in a factory, not a dance studio. She does not have the soul of an artist, like you, my beautiful Ali.” He gave a short bark of laughter. “But I’m afraid for once she is right. I must take my leave of you ladies. What is it you say in English? Duty screams, or is it duty shouts?”

“Duty calls,” I said flatly, willing him to be on his way.

“Ah yes, that is it, duty calls.” He stood up slowly, and I quickly grabbed my napkin in case he was going for the fingertip-kissing routine again. “I wish I could join you for dinner, my lovelies, but I’m having a special meal prepared for me later tonight. Veal scallopini, you know it?”

Ali gave a delicate shudder. “I’m a vegetarian, Chico. No meat, no fowl, no fish.”

Chico slapped his head. “Ah,
querida
, how could I forget? You don’t eat the animals, you eat the tofu and bean sprouts, of course I knew that. I was distracted by looking at you and your
hermana
, so much loveliness at one table.”

“Really?” Ali said, barely holding back a snort.

“
Sí!
” Chico replied, bobbing his head up and down. “My mind cannot take in such a sight! It’s too much
belleza
, how you say, beauty, for one man to grasp.” He slapped his forehead in a spot-on Ricky Ricardo imitation.

“Chico!” the redhead trilled. “We’re waiting for you!”

“Coming!” he shouted. He pushed back his chair and jumped to his feet, a scowl marring his handsome face. “Ladies,” he said, giving a little bow before darting back across the street.

“Wow. So that’s Chico,” I said the moment he was out of earshot.

“In the flesh,” Ali said wryly. “I think I made a narrow escape when I dumped that guy.”

I raised my wineglass and clinked it against hers. “I’ll drink to that, sis!”